


Time To Heal, Time To Rest

by nightmaresinwintah



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Asexual, Asexual Bucky Barnes, Asexual Steve Rogers, F/F, Fluff, I'm writing my big bang fic, M/M, Mentions of Therapy, Okay so I just want them to be happy, Plants, Post-CACW, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), SO, and inaccuracies about Steve and Bucky, because that's what they deserve for a while, but I didn't take a lot of time with this, i guess, i had to put plants in here okay, idk - Freeform, just read and find out, mentions of recovery, please, there will be a few inaccuracies in terms of Wakandan way of life, they get to be happy for a while, they get to live in a happy lil illusion, this is just a short break and here you go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-14 19:34:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7187225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightmaresinwintah/pseuds/nightmaresinwintah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I still love you,” Steve whispers, but he’s not finished. He talks a lot. “But if you just wanna be friends, then that’s fine. Because I love you that way, too.”</p>
<p>Is he done? Bucky thinks he’s done. “I never stopped loving you that way, Steve. I just wasn’t ready for it. And neither were you,” he hums, and smiles at the way all the insecurity drops off Steve’s face.<br/>*<br/>Or, rather, the post-CACW fic where Bucky and Steve remember that they love each other, and they are so ready to be boyfriends again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

After all he’s been through, it’s not really a surprise that Bucky doesn’t like being touched sometimes. He’s talked about it with his therapist - the one he’s had for four months - and apparently it’s nothing he should panic about. It’s normal. Of course, that’s not enough to settle that heavy feeling in his stomach, so he goes searching. Online. Because he knows how to use the internet, despite how Natasha light-heartedly teases him and Steve. They band together, a force to be reckoned with against her, and constantly leave different printed out pictures of crocodiles around the house. Because apparently, Natasha doesn’t like crocodiles. 

That’s another thing - the way he and Steve have somehow fallen back into an effortless rhythm. It’d taken the Wakandan scientists seven months to figure out a way to safely get rid of the HYDRA shit in his head, and ever since then he’s felt safer knowing that he’s fully in control of his mind. Which allowed him to let himself get close to Steve again. Knowing that Steve was safe from him - that he would never hurt Steve because of HYDRA again...It meant a lot. 

So, safe to say, Bucky owes the king of Wakanda an unrepayable debt. 

T’Challa doesn’t seem to mind, though. And he was still giving. Bucky’s therapist was helping him because T’Challa asked her to. Maybe T’Challa is paying her - Bucky doesn’t know. He isn’t sure how he’d go about bringing that conversation up, either. And Bucky’s living quarters are, again, courtesy of T’Challa. With the unstable nature of things in mind, none of them - Bucky, Steve, Natasha, Sam and Wanda - have anywhere to go. Clint had gone home, apparently, wherever that was. So had Scott. They’d been cleared - Clint wouldn’t be found, and apparently no one thought Scott was in any immediate danger. But the rest of them had nowhere safe to go. So T’Challa had granted them another kindness - it was unending, apparently - and offered them a modest building to stay in while they regrouped and figured out what to do.

And, on top of all that, Bucky has a new arm. Light, fast, unfaultable. And made from vibranium.

So. Unrepayable, indeed. 

But, back to the no-touch thing. Bucky’s spent time thinking about it, and it seems to run deeper than a simple left-over squick from HYDRA. He just...Doesn’t want it. Touch. Doesn’t need it. Sometimes it’s nice - Steve’s hand brushing against his as they walk, a warm hand on his flesh shoulder grounding him, or Natasha’s fingers threading through his hair as she braids it. But his therapist - Amina, he needs to stop referring to her as his therapist - insists that part of it could be to do with the time he was with HYDRA. She’s asked him to explore it more, dig deeper. 

He’d had a session with her today - her home was calming, wind chimes hanging at the door and all the windows open, letting in fresh air. She has many plants, and sometimes she asks him to help water them before they begin. He always obliges; it proves to be very therapeutic. Today, she’d asked him about what his sex drive had been like lately. The question had stumped him, because he genuinely hadn’t thought about it. He knew he’d been with dames before the war, but that was before. He’d answered truthfully - there was no sex drive. It simply wasn’t there. 

And that was okay, apparently. Lots of people were like that. But the thing was, even as Amina reassured him that it was nothing to worry about, as if he was worrying, he’d sat there on that comfy couch and let the wind chimes instill peace into his buzzing mind. He wasn’t worried. Sex doesn’t matter to him. The touch thing matters a little bit more, but only a little. If he doesn’t want it, why should it matter?

So there’s no explaining the heavy feeling in his gut. He ignores it, as much as he can, and goes about his daily life. Which was interesting. Now that he was free of HYDRA, he could participate in activities that involved other people without fear of hurting them. And the little group that lived in the same house as him now? They were good people. Even if they asked how he was doing all too often. 

The house is quiet, right now. Wanda is out, spending time with a friend she has made - Nailah. Bucky’s not sure how she made a friend - the Wakandans, as peaceful and inviting as they were - avoided the group of outsiders as much as they could. But Wanda moved among them like she belonged. Perhaps it was because of her nature - she was kind and clever, it wouldn’t’ve taken her long to learn the ways of the Wakandan people. Plus, going outside a lot would help, too. She doesn’t seem to like the indoors, much. 

Bucky thinks that has something to do with that fact that she’s spent a lot of time as a prisoner. 

Sam is out, too, most likely with T’Challa. The two had struck up a mostly unlikely bond - Sam was one of the most easy-going people Bucky could remember meeting, and T’Challa seemed like he had too much weight on his shoulders. Maybe Sam eased that. And T’Challa was inviting and endlessly charismatic - it doesn’t take long to grow to like him. Even Bucky does. And that has nothing to do with all he’s done for them, thank you very much. 

Natasha is most likely upstairs, sleeping. She’d been out last night, working on something. Bucky stays out of it, mostly, lets her and Steve handle the...Situation they’re in. Even after nearly a year, they were still not welcome back in America. Still fugitives. Bucky doesn’t mind. He’s constantly surprised to find that he’s calm here, happy with the way they’re living. It’s still, peaceful. Solid and reliable. He knows that someday, possibly soon, the illusion of the safe life they’re living will be shattered. Until then, Bucky will enjoy every moment. 

Mostly every moment. There are still the nightmares, flashbacks. He knows how to work through them, now, at the very least. And Steve. Steve gets nightmares too. 

Steve’s here, at the other end of the couch, facing the floor-to-ceiling window that looks out into a patch of rich green forest. It’s beautiful. Bucky likes sitting here, watching the birds flit through the trees. Steve’s not watching, though. His mind is elsewhere - Bucky can tell that from the glassy-eyed look on Steve’s face. 

He’s been like that for the past ten minutes. Bucky has a lot of practice of staying still, being patient, of going blank and bearing it till it’s over. He doesn’t do that much anymore, though. He thinks it surprises people how impatient he is. He’s not quiet, either; if he wants you to stop drinking his orange juice, he’s going to tell you. And you’re going to stop drinking the orange juice, because ‘I am the Winter Soldier, Sam Wilson, and I have seven knives on my person right now.’ He thinks that surprises people, too, how easily he’s accepted who he was, and is. 

From the other end of the couch, Steve blinks, and then blinks again. A little crease forms in between his eyebrows, and he swivels his head around and meets Bucky’s gaze. Bucky gives him a little smile. “Where’d you go?” he asks, voice ever-gravelly. He doesn’t speak often, no matter how much healing he’d done. Doesn’t think he ever will. It’s just not a necessity. Plus, he likes the quiet. 

“Just thinking, is all,” Steve hums, and leans his head back on the backrest of the couch. Bucky observes him in silence, and then does the same. He waits, because he knows Steve will elaborate on that eventually. Steve sighs, long and low, and then turns his head slightly so he’s looking just over Bucky. “You said you remember everything,” he says. 

Bucky closes his eyes, and wonders where this is going. “Some of it’s patchy,” he replies. 

“But it’s all there, right?” Steve presses. Bucky just nods. This conversation is already making him tired. “So, what do you remember about...Us?” Steve says. It’s real quiet, almost timid. Bucky doesn’t remember ever hearing Steve talk like that before. 

He opens his eyes and turns to focus on Steve, frowning. “Elaborate, Steve,” Bucky prompts. His metal fingers clench into a fist and then unclench, almost of their own accord. Amina says it’s most likely a nervous tick. He silently agrees with her, because every time he does it, it’s usually paired with a sweaty flesh palm and an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. 

“Do you remember us ever being...More? Than friends?” Steve murmurs, voice low like he doesn’t really want to say it. 

Bucky frowns harder, and then looks back up at the ceiling. Steve’s never brought this up before, and he wonders how long he’d been thinking about it. “Yes. We were together, weren’t we?” Bucky’s unsure, because he doesn’t remember there ever being anything sexual about their relationship. He remembers unfaultable friendship, undying loyalty. They were extremely close, and he has warm memories of curling up around a smaller body, pulling the blankets up and enjoying the closeness of skin on skin. The memories are calm, but there was never anything...Heated about them. Just warm. And full of love. “We loved each other,” Bucky adds. 

Steve’s quiet for a while. But, eventually; “yeah, we loved each other,” he croaks, and that makes Bucky look over, frowning harder than before. 

“Steve?” he asks. 

Steve squeezes his eyes shut, and Bucky watches his adam’s apple bob as he swallows. Steve doesn’t reply, and he looks vaguely pained, like he’s holding back some Extreme Emotion. Bucky’s found that he does this a lot, even more than before. And most memories from before are hazy, like he’s looking through frosted glass. They’re his, but he feels disconnected from them, as if he experienced them as a movie. He remembers the emotions from them, though. Remembers tranquility, sometimes, remembers raised voices and gut-stabbing hardships as well. It wasn’t easy, he remembers that. But it was worth it. 

They’ve always been best friends first, though. Maybe that’s why they haven’t had this conversation yet. 

Steve speaking draws Bucky out of the warm haze of memories, and it feels like he’s drifting to the surface of a hot spring. “I miss it, Buck,” he’s whispering. Bucky frowns, and goes to speak, but Steve hasn’t finished. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m so, so grateful that you’re here, and we’re friends again, and I would never, never ask for anything more than this if it was going to jeopardize what we’ve got, but. I’ve gotta know. I’ve gotta know if you’d ever want what we had, again.”

Steve talks a lot, that’s another thing that hasn’t changed. “Steve,” Bucky begins carefully, picking and choosing his words before he says them. “I don’t like being touched. I don’t - I’d never want sex, I don’t think,” he murmurs. 

When he looks over at him, Steve just looks quietly sad. “We never did have sex, Buck,” he replies. 

Bucky blinks, real slow, and then frowns. He’s frowning a lot. Confusion is a very familiar emotion to him. “Why not?” Just because he’s got his memories back, doesn’t mean he has them all back with perfect clarity. It has been seventy years, okay? 

“There’s a word for it now. I never wanted...Any of that. We kissed, sometimes, but. I didn’t want anything more. You were okay with it. It just...Was. Um. It’s called asexual, now. I did some research,” Steve says. It comes out slowly, but all in a rush, somehow. 

Bucky blinks again. That...Makes sense. Why he doesn’t remember them ever touching with the intention of anything...More. And Steve did research? Okay, so apparently Bucky’s not the only one who relies google for anything future-related. And the asexual thing. That’s something that Bucky had come across in his searches, too. He’d have to talk about it with Amina. 

Steve’s talking again. “And, I’m sorry if this mucks things up, we can just forget about it, I just. I needed to know. Because. Um. Shit,” he stops, and lifts his head off the backrest. He rubs at his eyes with the heels of his palms, and takes a deep breath. Bucky just watches him, lips pressed together. “I still love you,” Steve whispers, but he’s not finished. He talks a lot. “But if you just wanna be friends, then that’s fine. Because I love you that way, too.”

Is he done? Bucky thinks he’s done. “I never stopped loving you that way, Steve. I just wasn’t ready for it. And neither were you,” he hums, and smiles at the way all the insecurity drops off Steve’s face. 

Steve looks vaguely incredulous. “Oh,” he breathes. 

Bucky wants to laugh. Instead, he sits up and then stands up, walking over to the window. He stares out at the birds, eyes following their swooping and diving. “You’re still...Like that?” he asks, because if he can change, so can Steve. 

“Yeah,” Steve says from behind him. 

Bucky refocuses his eyes, and meets Steve’s gaze in the reflection on the glass. He smiles softly, and Steve beams back at him. “I want to try it. Again. Us,” Bucky tells him, turning around and pulling the sleeves of his sweater - he loves sweaters, they’re very big and warm and comfy - down over his knuckles. This sweater is mint green. He has seven sweaters, all different colours, because he can. 

Steve’s eyes light up, and Bucky blinks, coming back to the conversation. His mind drifts easily, nowadays. “Really?” Steve asks. 

Bucky sets him with his Serious Face. “Steven Grant Rogers, will you be my no-sex boyfriend?” he retorts, and feels weight float up and off his shoulders at the vibrant look on Steve’s face. It’s like the sun. It’s wonderful. 

“Yes,” Steve replies, and just like that, they’re boyfriends. Amina is going to be so proud of Bucky.


	2. Chapter 2

Things don’t really change. Amina  _ is  _ proud of Bucky, but she also helps him work out that he really does identify as asexual, now. It’s great. But, like he said, not much changes. It takes a while for everyone to catch on, because of this. Natasha finds out first, because she’s Natasha. Bucky and Steve are outside, somewhere in the patch of forest by the house, in a clearing. It’s nearing dusk, and they’re just laying on their backs, shoulders touching, and watching the sky. 

Natasha approaches quietly, but with just enough noise so that she won’t startle them. Steve keeps his eyes on the pink clouds, but Bucky turns his head slightly to blink a greeting at Natasha. It’s been a nonverbal day - Bucky still has them every now and then. It’s okay. 

Natasha’s got a small basket with her, and Bucky wonders if it’s a picnic basket. He thinks it looks like one. His stomach rumbles quietly. She sits down with them, folding her legs into a lotus pose, and waits silently for them to speak first. She’s good like that - she always seems to know what to do. Bucky turns his head and looks at Steve, who blinks and turns to look at him. His gaze flickers to Natasha for a moment, and then back to Bucky, before he smiles and links his pinky finger with Bucky’s. 

They sit up together, and Steve speaks first. “I think I wanna start painting again,” he says, casting a longing glance towards the sky. 

Bucky smiles, feeling his heart do the flutter thing. It makes his chest feel too small to contain all the warm emotions. Natasha looks quietly happy, too, and talks as she opens the basket. “I’m sure we can find you some canvas and paints,” she says, and pulls out three oranges. “Also, Wanda’s out with her friend and Sam’s staying the night wherever he and his Highness are,” she adds. “So, dinner.”

Bucky takes the offered orange, and knows that Natasha’s probably got other food in the basket too. He feels like she’s buttering them up a bit. He narrows his eyes, but begins to take apart the orange. He eats it in pieces, and doesn’t bother to wipe away the juice trickling down his chin. He licks at the drops that catch on his lips, glances at Steve, who’s just finished his orange and is eyeing up the basket. 

“I have sandwiches, too,” Natasha says around a mouthful of orange. 

Bucky narrows his eyes minisculely, and swallows his last bit of fruit. He doesn’t speak, and instead turns to Steve. Steve raises an eyebrow, searching Bucky’s eyes, and then turns back to Natasha. “What do you want to know?” he asks. 

Natasha doesn’t even look chagrined. She instead takes the sandwiches out and hands one each to them, and then speaks as she’s unwrapping hers. “So are you two finally together?” she asks. 

Bucky’s not surprised. Steve is, apparently. It takes him a while to answer, the sandwich sitting neglected in his hands. Bucky’s already had a couple of bites of his. It’s vegemite and mung beans, because Natasha somehow makes really weird combinations taste good. She’s said more than once that it’s Clint’s fault. “Uhm, yes?” Steve eventually says, nodding his head slowly and glancing back and forth between Bucky and Natasha. 

Bucky watches it play out, chewing his sandwich happily. It’s a good sandwich. Natasha nods to herself, like she already knew the answer. She probably did. “Nice, nice. So you’re apart of the no-sex club, too?” she adds, and  _ that  _ surprises Bucky.

He blinks, swallows the last of his sandwich. Natasha hands him another, calming awaiting the answer. Steve’s just as stumped, if not more. When there is no reply by the time she finishes her sandwich, Natasha sighs and speaks again. 

“C’mon, it’s not a big deal. I  _ notice  _ things,” she says. 

So she does. Bucky eventually nods, and then Steve does too. Steve finishes his sandwich, and then sits back, leaning on his hands. “Too?” he echoes, and oh yeah, she did say that. 

Bucky observes Natasha’s face, but she just smiles and hands Steve another sandwich. They sit in silence until the sun goes fully down, and then they lay back in the grass and watch the stars. There are crickets chirping, and it’s getting a bit cold, but it’s nice. Steve eventually rolls onto his side and wraps an arm tentatively around Bucky’s waist, just to be a little closer. Bucky brings up his metal hand and rests it gently on Steve’s elbow, holding him to him softly. He’s pretty sure Natasha’s discreetly watching, and he can see the smile on her face. 

They get up eventually, when goosebumps start crawling along their bare arms, and they head inside slowly. It’s warm, and Steve and Bucky head for the couch. Natasha puts the basket on the kitchen bench, and then heaps upstairs, waving goodnight to them. 

Bucky pulls on his lavender sweater from where it’s been left draped over the arm of the couch, and Steve puts a movie on, finding one Bucky mentioned wanting to watch the other day. They sit at one end of the couch, Steve curling into Bucky’s open arms, and focus on the screen. Bucky can feel Steve slowly relaxing, practically melting into Bucky, and it makes Bucky smile. There’s wind chimes singing outside their front door - Bucky can hear them. He’d made them himself, out of carefully hollowed wood and string found in one of the kitchen draws. He’s going to ask Steve to paint them, eventually. 

The movie is good, but Bucky finds his mind drifting. He watches, but he’s not really following the plot. He hears the front door opening and then closing quietly, and he watches the hallway out of the corner of his eye. 

Wanda pads along the soft carpet, a smile on her face. She looks calm, happy. Emotion swells in Bucky’s throat, and when she steps into the lounge, she pauses, taking in the two of them on the couch. Bucky just gestures to the other end of the couch, and Steve looks up briefly, offering her a smile as she sits down. She returns it, and then focuses on the movie. 

Bucky listens to Steve quietly catching Wanda up on what’s happening, and then they both fall silent again. And, hell, Bucky really wishes that it could stay like this forever. He’s  _ happy,  _ and he knows Steve is, too. Everyone seems to be. But there’s that shadow of dread hanging over all of them, threatening and horrifying. They all know this won’t last. 

But, for now, Bucky manages to push that out of his mind and focus back on the movie. He has no idea what’s happening in it, now, but he pays attention anyway. Steve’s rubbing soft circles into his flesh forearm, and it calms him down so much to the point where his eyelids are drooping. 

  
The last thing he remembers before he drops off to sleep is wishing that they could all stay like this, forever. 


	3. Chapter 3

T’Challa comes for a visit. Apparently, Sam’s been telling him how Steve and Bucky have been cooped up inside too much. So he comes and he tells them that most of his day is free, and him and Sam are taking them all out tramping. There’s beautiful vegetation all around them, and Wanda’s explored some of it, and so has Natasha. The rest of them are ‘missing out’, according to Sam. 

Bucky just waves his hands and agrees. It does look beautiful out there. He laces up his combat boots, fights off a wave of memory that comes with it. He pulls on his army green sweater, and a pair of gloves, and ties his hair back. He’s wearing thick black pants gifted to him by T’Challa, and is - delightfully - able to conceal eight knives on his person at once. It’s as much of a game to him as it is habit. 

Steve is wearing jeans and a t-shirt, because he’s an idiot. Bucky takes one look at him standing in the lounge waiting for everyone else to get ready, and turns right back around and stomps upstairs. He hears Steve making a confused noise, but he ignores it, because his boyfriend is an idiot. Bucky grabs his navy sweater, and stalks back downstairs, breezing past Natasha, who looks amused. She’s dressed appropriately for tramping in the forest. 

Bucky throws the sweater at Steve, who doesn’t catch it. It hits him in the face, and then he holds it in his hands and frowns at Bucky. “There are  _ bugs,”  _ Bucky snaps, and ignores Natasha’s snicker. 

“Bucky, it’s  _ hot,”  _ Steve whines, gesturing to the 24/7 air conditioning on the wall. 

Bucky narrows his eyes. He’s not backing down. There  _ are  _ bugs. Even T’Challa, who is waiting patiently beside Sam at the door, is wearing a long sleeved shirt. Steve hasn’t put the sweater on. Bucky narrows his eyes even further, and clenches his metal fist. It whirrs and hums quietly, and the plates along his forearm slide over each other and snap together. 

Steve puts the sweater on. 

They all walk outside as a group when Wanda joins them, clad in a red long sleeved shirt and pants similar to Bucky’s. He doubts she’s carrying knives, though. Two of T’Challa’s guard are with him, walking behind T’Challa and Sam and chatting amongst themselves. Bucky observes them subtly, watching the way they walk and hold themselves. He quickly deems them as high threats - if they were to ever attack him. Or Steve. They walk with confidence, strong and graceful, and they have an air of danger around them. They’re carefully armed, too, and Bucky wonders if he’d ever get the privilege of sparring with one of them. 

He knows they’d be a challenge. In fact, they have a high chance of winning against him. 

They get to a well-worn track fairly quickly. They walked, and Bucky guesses it was only about ten minutes. He’s not sure, he kind of drifted off. Steve’s a warm presence beside him, brushing their hands together every now and then. The group seems to wander down the track, and Bucky wonders if they’re headed somewhere, or if they’re just walking. 

He looks around as they go, taking in draping vines and, yes, bugs. There are birds, too, dancing through the humid air. The undergrowth is mainly ferns, sprouting up from the damp, warm earth. Every now and then, he’ll tune into the conversations going on, but otherwise, he’s in his own head, wondering how he could go about acquiring a pair of knitting needles and some wool. Because he really wants to learn how to knit a sweater. 

“ - Bucky, because Steve’s just going to blush and stutter.”

Bucky blinks, coming back to what’s happening. Natasha is smirking, and Sam had this knowing smile on his face, and Wanda looks curious. Steve’s blushing. It was Sam who talked, but Bucky hadn’t caught the first part of the sentence. T’Challa and his guards are listening, clearly, but the two women look less intrigued that their king.  

“What?” Bucky asks, subconsciously stepping a little closer to Steve.  

They’ve stopped at a clearing nestled beside a river, and Sam’s laying out a blanket for them all to sit on. It’s a very large blanket. Bucky wonders where he got it from. They all sit down as Natasha relays the conversation subject to Bucky. 

“Sam and the others were wondering if you two were together now,” she explains. 

Bucky is confused. Why do they care? And, also, are they that obvious? He just nods, and glances at Steve, who’s blushing. Bucky rolls his eyes and folds his legs underneath him, reaching for the bottle of water Wanda’s got in her hands. She gives it to him without questioning it, and she has a soft smile on her face like this news has made her happy. 

Bucky sips at the water, narrowing his eyes at Natasha as she laughs. Sam’s smiling, too, and so is T’Challa. Bucky observes the closeness between Sam and T’Challa, but  _ he  _ doesn’t stick his nose into other people's business. Instead, he remains silent, and leans back against Steve, casting his gaze up to the canopy of trees above them. It’s that edge of too-warm in his sweater, but the bugs are buzzing around, so he doesn’t take it off. Plus he loves the feeling of wool on metal, can actually feel the sliding sensation now. The sensors of his left arm have been seriously upgraded, and the actual arm itself is now lighter, easier to use. It feels like a real arm, most of the time. 

He’s been floaty today, drifting in and out of reality. There are snapshots of clarity, mostly when he’s engaged in conversation, but at the moment he’s just content to stare unseeingly out across the rippling waters of the river. Steve’s warm and solid against his back, grounding him, but his mind feels pleasantly fuzzy. 

A bird dives across the water, snapping up a wriggling fish, and he watches it with indifferent calm. The others are laughing, but the sounds are distant, almost like he’s listening to them from underwater. This used to happen a lot, used to make him panic. He doesn’t mind it so much now that it happens a lot less. 

His flesh palm is face down and just off the blanket. His fingers are threaded through a patch of grass, and he’s got soil under his fingernails. “Bucky?” Steve’s voice is smooth, low, and only meant for him to hear. He looks up from the river slowly, and meets Steve’s eyes, smiling. “Y’alright?” Steve asks, eyes warm and tinged with faint concern. 

Bucky just nods. He’s fine. He drops his head down to lean on Steve’s shoulder, and goes to tune into the conversations that’s happening. He doesn’t quite manage it, because something catches his eye across the river. 

It’s blended with the shadows, and it’s soft, graceful movements are what let Bucky see it at all. His throat closes up, and he feels his eyes go wide. Eyes lock with his across the water, and he feels entranced. His skin is buzzing with sudden restless energy. Steve must feel his muscles lock up in shock and awe, because he glances down at Bucky and then follows his gaze. Bucky feels him tense, too. 

And then eyes are on them, and then following their line of sight. 

Wanda sucks in a breath of surprise. No one else makes a noise. The panther across the river drops down from its branch and crouches by the water, eyes still locked with Bucky’s. It flickers its attention across the others for a moment, assessing, before returning to Bucky. T’Challa makes a low noise in his throat, and moves his gaze to observe Bucky. 

Bucky feels frozen. Are there wind chimes around here somewhere? He swears he can hear them. The panther lowers its head closer to the water, and its tongue darts out as it laps at the surface. Everyone is still, silent, as the panther drinks its fill. Then, when it is done, it rises out of its crouch and watches them for a while longer, looking curious, before slowly backing away, then turning and padding through the undergrowth, brushing low hanging branches out of its way with its shoulders. 

When it’s gone from sight, a collective breath echoes around the group. Bucky twitches, and then looks across the blanket at T’Challa, who is smiling. There is no discussion of what just happened. They linger a while more, drink in the left over magic of the event, before packing up and heading back home for lunch. They walk a little slower than before, and Bucky keeps an eye on the shadows. 


	4. Chapter 4

He’s just returned from another session with Amina, and now he’s on the couch, listening to his wind chimes being taken down from their hook outside the front door. There’s an old sheet set up on the floor, and paints and paintbrushes decorating it. Steve walks back into the lounge and kneels on the sheet, setting the wind chimes carefully down. 

Natasha is upstairs again, this time making some very serious calls and emails. Wanda’s out, but Sam is in the kitchen, making a sandwich. Bucky’s finally convinced Steve to paint his wind chimes. And Bucky himself has knitting needles and several rolls of light grey wool. He’d spent the night before watching youtube tutorials on how to knit a sweater, Steve resting his head on Bucky’s thigh and already drifting off to sleep. 

And now, Bucky’s going to start on his sweater. He watches Steve for a little while longer, though, eyes tracking him as he sets up his colours on a pallet and begins painting twisting, colourful designs on the wooden chimes. It’s entrancing. 

Bucky starts making the sweater, mucking up more than a few times. He doesn’t let himself get impatient, even though he  _ is.  _ He tries again. He gets it, eventually, with a scowl on his face and the needles clicking slower than than what he thinks they should be. It’s okay. He’s made definite progress, when Steve looks up from his painting and stares at him, clearly trying to capture his attention. 

Bucky waits a while, clicking away with the needles. Bucky narrows his eyes. Steve stares harder. Bucky puts the needles down, and huffs out an unimpressed breath, setting Steve with a ‘ _ what _ ’ look. Steve smiles, all bright and sunshine. “Will you go on a date with me?” he asks. 

Sam conveniently needs to go do something not in the lounge. Bucky frowns. “But we’re already boyfriends,” he says. 

“So? There’s this really nice bunch of shops down the road, and I have some money,” Steve replies - and, how does he have money? Bucky has no money. He’s taken to asking Sam how to get things, and them miraculously appearing sometime later. “There’s a cafe, and a fernery. With bamboo plants,” Steve continues. 

Bucky narrows his eyes again. “Why is it a date?” 

“Because I love you and I want to go do something fun with you.”

“This isn’t fun?” Bucky thinks this is fun. Fuck you, Steve. This is fun.

Steve just rolls his eyes. Which. Rude. “You know what I mean, Buck. Plus, I need a break. My hands are cramping. Yours have got to be, too.”

Bucky flexes his hands. He scowls again, because Steve’s right - the flesh hand twinges a bit. “Fine.”

“Why does this suddenly sound like I’m forcing you to do this?” Steve asks. 

Bucky chews that over while he puts the knitting stuff away. “You’re not, I’m just stubborn. Get ready, Rogers, I want to go see the bamboo,” he says, because, yes, he does want to see the bamboo. It’s what his new wind chimes are going to be made out of. 

Steve jumps up and goes to get ready, paint covering his hands. The familiarity of it makes Bucky’s head spin, but he’s smiling. He himself gets up, tucking the knitting stuff away at the other end of the couch. Steve’s left his painting stuff out, and Bucky kneels down by the sheet and looks at the freshly painted wind chimes.

He’s got a lump in his throat. The main colour is orange, and the rest of the colours compliment that with likewise warmth. There’s tiny suns and big swirls of heat wrapping around the chimes, and the top of Bucky’s creation is decorated with the words; ‘Till the end of the line. Bucky tries to swallow around the lump, but he can’t. Steve is  _ such  _ a sap. 

It takes him another few moments to compose himself, but then Bucky’s standing up and turning around to face Steve, who’s hovering at the bottom of the stairs, looking quietly unsure. He’s changed his top and put some shoes on, and has a bulge in one of his pockets where he’s put his wallet. He takes in Bucky’s watery eyes, and his eyebrows pull together. 

Bucky just walks forwards, around the couch, and pulls him into a hug. 

He buries his face into Steve’s neck, and just breathes him in. He smells like home. And, well, Bucky’s a sap too, alright? Steve hums, breathing out happily, and then drops a soft kiss to the crown of Bucky’s head. Bucky feels his chest expand with emotion, and he squeezes Steve a little tighter, reveling in the warmth. 

He pulls back, just slightly, arms relaxing around Steve, and looks him dead in the face. Steve’s got a soft look on his face, eyes fever-bright with love, and all of a sudden he looks extremely kissable. So Bucky raises one eyebrow and leans in, just slightly, a question in his eyes. 

“Please,” Steve whispers. 

His lips are sweet against Bucky’s. It’s not really a kiss, more of lips-against-lips, but they’re breathing each other in, tasting each others air and their skin tingles with it. Bucky’s blood is thrumming through his veins, and he just feels  _ light  _ and  _ warm  _ and  _ happy.  _ A dark thought prods at him and he wonders if he deserves it, but them Steve is pulling him flush against his body again like he can read his mind. 

The kiss doesn’t deepen; it gets lighter as they brush their lips against each others. It’s soft, and so loving and more than anything he could ever ask for that Bucky feels like he’s going to float away. Steve’s there grounding him, though, and when they pull back, gently expressions on their faces, they just smile at each other. Steve holds him steady, and they both know that, finally,  _ finally _ , Steve’s caught him. 


	5. Chapter 5

A new bamboo plant decorates the lounge, sitting bright and inviting in the corner, and a hanging green ivy is dangling securely from a hook on the ceiling above it. Bucky’s gotten through his sweater some more, confident in his abilities. Steve has finished painting the wind chimes, and they’re back in their spot outside the door. 

Turns out the cafe they went to has the best damn hot chocolate either of them have ever tasted. They’re regulars, now, and the staff there are slowly becoming accustomed to the way they stick out and draw attention. Bucky even thinks that the barista - Haji - actually  _ likes  _ them. Sam’s mentioned that Bucky and Steve together are irresistible. Natasha has told them they’re sickening, the way they hold hands and love each other. She’s joking, of course. Bucky can see the warmth in her eyes when she says it. 

Today’s an inside day, on Bucky’s part, and he’s completely content to stay on the couch and work on his sweater. He doesn’t think going outside completely agrees with him. The thought of it makes his stomach twist uncomfortably. But, the thing is. He really,  _ really  _ wants some of that hot chocolate right now. But Steve’s still upstairs sleeping the day away - it’s noon, how is he still asleep - and there’s no one else around. 

Maybe Natasha’s upstairs, but Bucky’s not sure. Wanda’s out - she’d sat down and had breakfast with him, pouring them each a glass of orange juice when he’d stared at the bottle across the kitchen for too long, and then had given him a happy wave and left the house. He’d smiled for an entire hour. But that’s not the point. She’s not here, Steve’s sleeping, and he has no idea where Natasha is. 

So. That leaves Sam. 

With great effort, Bucky sets aside his knitting supplies and gets to his feet. He wanders over to this fancy-ass looking panel on the wall of the lounge, and taps it once with his flesh finger. Images slide over the touch-screen, all faces of people he can contact through the thing. He’s not  _ entirely  _ sure how it works, and he’s pretty sure it’s for emergencies, but this  _ is  _ one, alright? So he clicks on Sam’s face. 

It enlarges, and then goes white, except for three swirling circles and the word  _ contacting  _ in cursive below the circles. He watches the moving shapes for a moment. They’re calming. And then Sam’s face is on the screen again, eyes a little wide and face worried. 

“Bucky? You alright? What’s happening?” comes his concerned voice. 

Bucky narrows his eyes and observes the background around Sam. “You’re in town?” he asks. Sam nods. “Do you know the cafe?” Bucky continues. 

Sam’s face loses its worried look, and he turns his eyes to the sky for a moment, taking a deep breath. “Bucky, this is for  _ emergencies,” _ he emphasizes when he looks back at Bucky.

“I don’t see your point. I want hot chocolate,” Bucky says, frowning. “Please.”

Sam sighs, and looks away from Bucky for a moment, raising an eyebrow at something, or someone. There appears to be a positive answer, because then Sam’s attention is back on Bucky, and he’s smiling, slightly. “We’ll pick up your hot chocolate, Bucky. Does Steve want some, too?” he asks.

Bucky beams, and it hurts his face. He softens the smile a bit, and then thinks about the question. He glances at the ceiling, and glares. “No. He’s sleeping, so he doesn’t deserve any,” he says, and then thinks about that a bit more. His glare slides off his face, and he sighs. “No, wait, yeah. Please get him some,” he mutters. 

Sam’s grinning, and then waving, and then the video image of him is turning off. The panel returns to its original blank state. Bucky moves away from it, and towards the stairs. He has to practically  _ drag  _ himself up them, glaring the whole time, because this is Steve’s fault. If Steve were awake, and downstairs with Bucky, then Bucky wouldn’t have to be walking up these damn stairs. It’s far too much effort for this afternoon. 

He does it anyway, because he loves his boyfriend. 

He walks into their shared room, and pauses at the door, taking in the sight. Steve’s on his stomach, legs spread in a ‘v’ under the sheet, sprawled out and taking up all the space possible. His arms are tucked under his pillow, and although his face is turned away from the door, Bucky knows it’s all smooshed up and that it will have pillow creases imprinted in the skin. It makes him smile. The sun is beaming down through the drapes, dappling through the holes in the patterns, casting shapes onto the sheet and Steve’s hair, which is in disarray on the pillow. 

Bucky’s stomach feels weird, in a good way. He pads across the carpet, around the bed and crouches silently in front of Steve. The sheet is tucked just around his waist, so the whole expanse of his back is on display. He’s beautiful. Just as Bucky predicted, Steve’s face is smooshed into the pillow, but he looks peaceful. Bucky almost doesn’t want to wake him. But. Hot chocolate.

Bucky reaches up and carefully runs metal fingers through Steve’s mess of hair, pressing his fingertips softly into his scalp. Steve hums, still asleep, and shifts his face, pressing it deeper into the pillow. Bucky grins, feeling  _ fond  _ explode in his chest, and does it again. Steve huffs out a sigh through his nose, and seems to come back to the land of the conscious.

He wakes up slowly, cracking open one bleary eye, and his gaze seems to clear as he finds Bucky’s face, soft and warm, in front of him. Bucky’s smiling, he can feel it in his cheeks and in the crinkles by his eyes. Steve smiles, too, humming low in his throat again, and he looks  _ dopey,  _ but Bucky is so, so in love. “Mornin, love,” Bucky murmurs. 

“Mornin’, Buck,” Steve replies, voice raspy and thick with sleep.

Bucky runs his fingers through his hair one last time, scratching gently at the skin, before pulling away and folding his arms on the edge of the bed, resting his chin on them. He settles his eyes on Steve, who’s on intense blues are half-lidded still, and just smiles for a while. There are birds singing, somewhere, and the air is the perfect balance between warm and cool.

“Wha’ time s’it?” Steve asks, blinking slowly before rubbing his face into the pillow and bringing one hand up to rub at his eyes. 

Bucky leans back, and stands up again. “Noon, you punk. You’ve slept the day away,” he laughs, walking over to where Steve’s flung his shirt from the day before. 

When he turns back around, Steve’s sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and his taking his time with standing up. Bucky hands him his shirt, and goes to find him some pants. He comes back with a fresh pair, and Steve pulls those on, too. “How come y’let me sleep?” Steve questions, voice becoming smoother as he wakes up more. It’s heavy with Brooklyn, his words positively dripping with it, and it makes Bucky’s heart clench with some  _ emotion.  _

“Because I’m nice. So nice, in fact, that I made Sam get us hot chocolates from the cafe,” Bucky replies, and reaches out a hand. 

Steve intertwines their fingers, and his eyes light up in excitement. He’s got pillow crease lines on his cheek. “Hot chocolate?” he echoes. 

“S’what I said,” Bucky hums, and they head downstairs. 

Sam and T’Challa are in the kitchen, a carry-tray full of take away hot chocolates sitting there on the bench like a bar of gold. Bucky can’t help but grin. Steve’s rubbing at his eyes with his free hand, but he smiles at the two other men, attention drifting to the drinks as well. 

“Sleep well?” Sam asks Steve, as he holds out two cups. 

Bucky takes his eagerly, and lets go of Steve’s had with a soft brush of his thumb to take the top off. He darts his tongue out to test the temperature, and then takes a sip. It’s as if he’s drinking from the fountain of youth, the way his shoulders drop and warmth spreads through his veins, all the way down to his toes and fingers. 

“Amazingly,” Steve is replying, and then he’s sipping at his own drink, looking like he’s in heaven. 

Bucky walks over to the couch, now that he’s got his drink, and sips at it while he watches the others. Steve’s sitting on a stool at the bench, now, obviously still half-asleep and unable to be bothered with standing. T’Challa has a hand on Sam’s waist, and it makes Bucky happy. He savours his hot chocolate, drinking it so slow it cools down to warm instead of hot by the time he finishes it. 

 

When he does, he gets right back to knitting, and the rest of the day is light and warm. Steve eventually comes over and sits at the base of the couch, leaning against the armrest by Bucky’s feet, which are kicked up onto the cushions. He leans his head back, and his eyes slide half-shut, but he’s looking out the window, a small smile on his face. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the final installment

Bucky hasn’t been dancing in a very, very long time. So when he goes downstairs after showering and putting his favourite fluffy socks on, and Steve’s found a record player from god-knows-where and is playing Only Forever by Bing Crosby and is holding on hand out with a  _ stupid, endearing  _ smile on his face, Bucky’s more than shocked. He’d planned on finishing his sweater today. 

But Steve’s still standing there. Bucky hasn’t moved from the bottom of the stairs. He’s very shocked. Then, he’s being snapped out his trance, and he’s stumbling forwards, and taking Steve’s hand. Steve just smiles down at him, face incredibly soft, and so much love in his eyes it makes Bucky choke up. He thinks can feel his own eyes watering. 

This is confirmed by Steve’s quiet, “oh, Buck.”

“Shut up, punk, you can’t just spring this on me and not expect a little emotion,” Bucky retorts, voice thick with emotion. 

He’s going to cry. But he’d never tell you that. Steve just huffs out a laugh, and pulls him close. He takes the lead, and then they’re  _ dancing.  _ Bucky holds back a choked sob, and instead buries his face into the crook of Steve’s neck. Steve hums in contentment, and they’re dancing across the lino floor of the kitchen, and Bucky’s eyes are closed, and he’s back in 1942. His shoulders are warm, and his chest is tight, but he’s lighter and happier than  _ ever.  _

_ “Steve,”  _ he chokes out.

“Sh, Buck. I know. I know,” Steve murmurs, and yeah, he does. 

Bucky’s shoulders are shaking. So are Steve’s. Bucky pulls back a little, looks Steve right in the face. He’s got two tear tracks down his cheeks, but he’s smiling so wide Bucky thinks Steve’s cheeks are going to break. His eyes are so,  _ so  _ bright. “Stevie,” Bucky breathes, and then he’s sobbing. 

Steve just pulls him close again, but they’re not dancing anymore. They’re swaying, and crying onto each other’s shoulders, Bing Crosby singing in the background. It’s warm, and they’re safe for once, and this means so, so much. For a moment, Bucky can pretend no time has passed. He can pretend they’re in some grand dancehall, pressed to each other without the fear of prying eyes, and they’re dancing like they have all the time in the world. 

“I love you, Bucky,” Steve’s saying, voice full of heart. 

Bucky shudders through the roiling wave of emotion those words brings. “I love you, too, Steve, so, so much,” he replies, and it’s the truest thing he’s ever said. And then Steve’s pulling away softly. Bucky opens his eyes, and the illusion cracks a little. He’s still warm, though. Still safe. But Steve’s on the ground. He’s on one knee. What? “Steve?” he asks. 

Steve hasn’t wiped away his tears. He’s still got Bucky’s hands in his. He lets go of the metal one, and reaches into his pocket. Bucky’s heart is in his throat. He can’t breathe. Steve looks like an angel as he pulls out a little velvet box, eyes all wide and full of  _ innocence,  _ like he doesn’t know Bucky’s having heart palpitations. And then he’s opening that goddamn mouth, and  _ talking,  _ voice soft and is that  _ unsurety?  _ Bucky’s going to kick his ass when he’s said yes. 

“Buck. I don’t - I didn’t think about what to say. So, I’m just going to tell you what I know. I know that you’re here, warm, alive, and so, so in love with me it sometimes makes my head spin. I know that as far back as I can remember, I’ve loved you, too. I know that you’ve always been there, and you’ll always be here, till the end of the line. I know I will be, for you, too. I know that when you -  _ god -  _ when you were gone, it felt like I’d never be able to breathe right again. I know that when I saw your face again, I was more aware of the breath in my lungs that I ever was before. I know that you still take my breath away, every day. I know that you’ve accepted me as I am, as I was, and as I will be. I know I have, for you, too. And, hell, Buck. James Buchanan Barnes, I know that I want you here with me, and I with you, for the rest of our goddamn unpredictable lives.” He takes a big, long breath, and closes his eyes for a moment. When they open, they’re shiny with wet, warm tears. He’s smiling so wide, but his bottom lip is shaking. Bucky can’t breathe. “I love you, Bucky, and I’m here, on my knees, and I need to know one more thing.” He pauses, again. 

“Yeah, Stevie?” Bucky prompts, and he’s dimly aware of other people in the room suddenly. He drowns them out. He can’t hear anything but Steve. He can’t feel anything but Steve. He doesn’t know anything but Steve, in this moment. 

Steve takes another deep breath. “Will you marry me, Buck?” he finally,  _ finally  _ asks. 

Bucky’s knees give out, and he’s on the floor with him, crying and tackling him onto his back. “Yes,  _ yes,  _ you massive  _ asshole,  _ yes, a thousand times yes. I  _ love  _ you,” he’s rambling, he knows, but he has to get his point across. 

Steve’s letting out a wet sob, and then he’s staring up at Bucky with the gentlest eyes in the world. He takes the ring out of the box, and takes Bucky’s left - metal - hand. Bucky frowns for a moment, because he knows the ring will slip off, but then Steve sliding the modest silver band - slightly darker than his arm - and it takes his breath away. It’s magnetic, somehow, and stays there, where it belongs, on Bucky’s ring finger. 

Bucky looks at it for a moment, and then looks back down at Steve, smiling. He drops a kiss to his fiancee's nose, and then rests his head on his chest, huffing out a contented sigh. Steve laughs softly, and Bucky’s never, ever, felt this happy before in his entire life. This is it. This is the happiest he can get. Steve’s arms are around Bucky’s waist, holding him to him. Not like he needs to. Bucky’s not going anywhere. 

Behind them, hovering at the doorway, Wanda and Sam are silently bawling their eyes out. Natasha’s eyes are watery, but she would never admit it. 

Bucky takes a deep, clear breath, and lets the light fill him. Steve does the same, and they lay there in silence, drinking the moment in. They both wish that it could stay like this forever. 

 

(It doesn’t. They get there, though, in the end.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading! hope u enjoyed :) (i did) also find me on tumblr at buckyskillingme if u wish!


End file.
